


we know the way each door swings open

by verity



Series: someone on the dancefloor, waiting just for you [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Breathplay, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Mirror Sex, Riding Crops, sex tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: Yuri smiles up at him, mischievous. "You were thinking too hard." He grinds up against Otabek, cock already half-hard beneath his sweatpants. "Don't be gentle with me. I can take it.""I know you can," says Otabek.





	we know the way each door swings open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dadvans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadvans/gifts).



> for dadvans: I appreciate you <3333 thanks to Ashe for unfucking this fic and generally being an MVP and to Snick for betaing!
> 
> title from D. A. Powell's "college roommate gone: his hamper full. I'll do us both a favor"

The contents of Yuri's closet are more on the floor than on the hangers. Jackets, shirts, jeans spill out onto the hardwood; the hamper in the bathroom is choked with performance fabric. There's no drying rack or clothesline to be found. Even wrung out, the sheets in Otabek's arms are heavy with water.

"Oh," Yuri says, his face falling when Otabek comes into the main room. "I send my laundry out normally. I didn't think—"

"Is there another set?"

Yuri bites his lip. "Just the ones on the bed." Covered in wax and the mess of last night.

They spread the sheets out along the half-wall of the loft, letting them trail down over the den like the awning of a blanket fort. Yuri sprawls out on the futon, tapping through a reel of Snapchat stories on his phone, feet dangling off the end. Otabek leans against the stairwell and watches him—watches the movement of muscle underneath the welts on Yuri's back. 

"Let's go out for a while," he says. "I want to pick up some things."

* * *

Yuri's idea of going-out clothes is cheetah-print joggers, combat boots, and a heavily embroidered hoodie that makes him wince every time the fabric glances off his back. They walk close enough on the sidewalk that their hands brush. Traffic in the city center is bad enough that Otabek didn't bother renting a bike; Yuri lives near enough to everything to walk anyway. They only have to dodge tourists gaping at the skyline for a few blocks to get to a hypermarket. Yuri plucks things from the grocery section according to some obscure internal compass—strained yogurt, bananas, Haribo bears—and trails behind Otabek toward the linens.

"I was just going to get some online. These are all—" Yuri gestures with his free arm, the fingers of the other tensing around the handles to his shopping basket. "Boring."

"They're sheets," Otabek says.

Yuri runs his fingers over the plastic packaging of a 50cm cotton set on display. "What size is my bed again?”

At the register, Yuri elbows Otabek out of the way and puts everything on his card. He glances at Otabek after he jams it into the chip reader like he expects a protest, but Otabek just shrugs. Yuri is the latest face of Zara—hence the joggers—and he'd just sulk if Otabek insisted on splitting things evenly all the time. Sometimes it's easier to let Yuri have his way.

* * *

For their journey home, Otabek hooks the drying rack over his shoulder and carries both sets of sheets. Yuri keeps switching the plastic bag of groceries from hand to hand, idly twirling the handle between his fingers. Antsy. He rolls his shoulders when they pause for traffic like he's trying to scratch an itch. Otabek puts the flat of his palm between Yuri's shoulder blades and Yuri startles, whipping his head around to look Otabek in the eyes.

"The light," Otabek says, dropping his hand.

"Oh," Yuri says.

In the elevator inside Yuri's building, Otabek touches the inside of Yuri's wrist, tracing along the ridge of blue vein. Yuri turns his arm with the movement, letting Otabek stroke down the length of his palm to where his pinky is caught in the plastic. The elevator dings with each floor they pass. Yuri looks down at the floor, or at their hands together, and the corner of his mouth ticks up. Otabek wraps his fingers loosely around Yuri's wrist and feels as light as if he were wearing a medal.

Yuri puts his yogurt away while Otabek stuffs one set of new sheets into the washer. "You wash them first?" Yuri says as he pries open the packet of gummy bears.

"You'll want them later," Otabek says.

He leans against the counter and watches Yuri dig through the bag for the clear pineapple bears. Yuri's hair is getting long enough to lay flat; the last time they were together, Otabek evened out the back in a hotel bathroom with his own clippers. Then Yuri rinsed the loose hair off in the shower and Otabek dug his fingers into a bruise on Yuri's hip while he sucked Yuri off under the cascading water. Yuri tilts back his head as he crams a handful of gummy bears into his mouth; his hoodie rides up, flashing a pale trail of hair over his stomach. 

Otabek says, "I could cut your hair."

Yuri blinks at him.

* * *

This time, it's in Yuri's bathroom, which has trendy subway tile and a disgraceful rug that Otabek banishes upstairs to the laundry pile. Yuri sits on the edge of the bathtub in his boxer briefs and lets Otabek move him into place, covering his shoulders with a towel. "Clippers all over, right?" Otabek says. "Shorter in the back."

Yuri nods. "Like last time."

Otabek does a few passes with a longer comb before he fades in with a shorter one at the back. He's no barber, but he's been trimming his own hair long enough to know what he's doing. 

Yuri says, softly, careful not to move— "Do you like it?"

"Your hair?" 

"Yeah."

Otabek turns off the clippers. "I like being able to see your eyes." He sets the clippers down and picks up the scissors.

"That's not what I mean," Yuri says.

Otabek trims the hair around Yuri's ears with precise snips. "Turn around." Yuri swings his legs over the edge of the tub, scowling. "I have to even you up." Just a few stray hairs at the temples. "There. You're set."

The entire wall opposite the tub is mirrored. Yuri stares at his own reflection and Otabek watches Yuri watching Yuri. "I don't like it," Yuri says after a minute. "I just like how it makes people look at me."

"I meant what I said."

Yuri's eyes are cool and serious in the mirror. Maybe this is what he wants people to see. His free skate this season is to "Mars, the Bringer of War," full of showy jumps executed with his arm raised; he's put on muscle as well as height since the last time he stood at the top of a podium. 

"Yuri," Otabek says. Yuri drags his eyes up the mirror to meet Otabek's gaze. "Stand up."

"Why?" Yuri scowls, but complies, letting the towel slip off his shoulders like a cloak as he rises.

Otabek drags Yuri's underwear down over his hips, and Yuri's cock swings free. Then he pulls Yuri in front of him—Yuri's not so tall that Otabek can't tuck his chin over his shoulder. "Close your eyes." 

"Is that an order?"

In answer, Otabek curves his palm around Yuri's cock—velvety soft, the tip still sheathed—and draws his hand down, back again. Yuri's nipples are already stiff: he's been sitting on cold enamel in a cool room. "Close them."

Yuri leans back against Otabek, freshly-cut hair prickling Otabek's neck. In the mirror, he's flattened out like a magazine spread. Otabek trails his free hand over Yuri's chest until he reaches Yuri's neck. The muscles in his arm flex as he spreads his hand over Yuri's throat, just below the jaw, and tightens his hold. Yuri shivers.

"I'm the only one looking at you now."

A sharp breath punches out of Yuri's lungs and the muscles of his chest clench. He's growing hard, his cock hot in Otabek's grip.

"No one else sees you like this," Otabek says. "Just me." 

Yuri's cheeks are pink. His eyelashes fan across his cheeks, so pale that Otabek can barely make them out in their reflection. Otabek squeezes Yuri's neck for a moment, gently, and Yuri's whole body shakes. He's impossibly beautiful, of course, but that's not what Yuri needs to hear now.

"Do you know what I like to watch?"

Mutely, Yuri rolls his head against Otabek's shoulder. His breath is coming faster now. For a long moment, Otabek just watches both of them in the mirror: Yuri, coming undone under his hands, and himself, his own stern face. His cock is full in his pants, pressing against Yuri's ass. He's so weak for Yuri, so easy. 

"I like to watch you do this for me," Otabek says. Low. "You look—" He swallows. In his hand, Yuri's cock is slick with pre-come. Otabek rubs his thumb beneath the exposed head as he twists his fingers around the shaft. "You're so brave. You save it for me. I love it."

Yuri's knees bend and Otabek drops his hand from Yuri's throat to catch Yuri around the waist. When Yuri comes, it splatters across his chest, dripping down Otabek's fingers. Otabek strokes him through it before he lifts his fingers to Yuri's mouth for him to lick clean.

"On your knees," Otabek says when Yuri's done, and Yuri complies, kneeling on the floor. His fingers are at the fly of Otabek's pants before Otabek can ask. Yuri takes Otabek into his throat, cupping Otabek's balls in his hand before he begins to move his mouth in earnest, the walls of his throat rippling against Otabek's cock. Otabek puts his hands on Yuri's shoulders to steady himself. He comes embarrassingly quickly.

* * *

After they shower, Yuri strong-arms Otabek onto the futon and they watch internet videos of people dropping molten metal balls onto things for an hour, Otabek's arm wrapped firmly around Yuri's waist. Otabek's not really watching the show. Yuri smells good, warm and clean—Otabek could fall asleep like this if he didn't feel so restless. 

"Was that okay?" he says during a lull between videos.

Yuri pulls away from him, but it's just to hit pause on his laptop on the coffee table. "What?" He twists so he can meet Otabek's eyes, body pulling taut. 

"Your throat," Otabek says. "When I—"

Yuri relaxes. "Of course," he says. "You should do it again. It was hot."

"We didn't talk about it first." 

"I would have tapped out if I didn't like it." Yuri pauses. "I like it when you surprise me."

Otabek hugs Yuri to his chest until Yuri rolls back over and hits play.

* * *

Yuri's sheets are not dry after dinner. Otabek opens the second set of new sheets, the folds of fabric still stiff with starch, and puts the fitted sheet on the mattress unwashed while Yuri putters around the loft, picking up and putting down last night's guttered candles. The marks from the crop have purpled on his back. 

Otabek is tucking in the last corner of the sheet when Yuri tackles him, shoving him onto the bed. The sheet twists in his hand but the corner holds as Otabek pulls himself further onto the mattress and tosses Yuri off him. They scuffle for a moment, playful, until Otabek gets Yuri pinned, hands over his head, with Otabek's knees on either side of his hips. "What's this about?" 

Yuri smiles up at him, mischievous. "You were thinking too hard." He grinds up against Otabek, cock already half-hard beneath his sweatpants. "Don't be gentle with me. I can take it."

"I know you can," says Otabek.

He buckles the cuffs around Yuri's wrists and clips the ends of the chains to the attachment points on the bed with carabiners. Yuri laughs as Otabek strips off Yuri's sweatpants and manhandles him into place—gets Yuri spread eagle, face-up, with little wiggle room, baoding ball held securely in one hand. He stops laughing when Otabek reaches under the bed and retrieves the riding crop from where he put his bag this morning. 

The edges of the marks left by the crop are visible on Yuri's inner thighs. Otabek doesn't start there, of course. He runs the leather flapper of the crop along Yuri's side, down his chest, up the length of Yuri's cock. Yuri is starting to relax into the caresses when Otabek sets the crop down on the bed. "Hmm?" he says, blinking up at Otabek. 

It takes Otabek a moment to fumble open the cap of the lube—he ends up with more than enough spilled over his hand, or the right amount, maybe. He slicks up the curved vibrator before he starts to push it between Yuri's tight cheeks, working it inside until the end of vibrator sits snugly behind Yuri's balls. Yuri cranes his neck to watch, although he can't see—he must be staring at Otabek, then. Otabek's cheeks are warm. He turns the vibrator on the lowest setting and sits down at the foot of the bed. "Make yourself come. I'll watch."

Yuri makes a face at him. "You're not going to help?" He lays still for a minute before his hips start to move; he has just enough traction to rock against the bed. His cock swells, curving against his belly. Otabek folds his legs to his chest and fights the urge to touch. It's strange watching Yuri so close but at a remove—pleasuring himself, focused inward. He grunts, straining against his bonds, and shudders into orgasm without release. "I'm—" Yuri's panting now, scooting back, like he's trying to get away from the sensation. "Can you—Beka—"

"I'm not going to turn it off," Otabek says. "That's one."

"Oh." Yuri's chest rises and falls. He doesn't let go of the baoding ball.

Otabek waits a little longer before he picks up the riding crop again and starts to caress Yuri with it again. He pays special attention to the sensitive parts of Yuri's body: his armpits, his sides, the insides of his arms and thighs. Yuri squirms when Otabek gently taps his nipples. "You like that." When Yuri nods, Otabek leans forward and adjusts the speed of the vibrator up another notch. He pinches one of Yuri's nipples between his fingers and Yuri gasps before Otabek pulls away.

He goes from strokes to taps, mapping Yuri's body, careful to avoid his cock. When Yuri starts to rock his hips again, Otabek swats the inside of Yuri's ankle. "How many times do you think you can come for me?" he says.

Yuri glances at him from under those golden lashes. "I can take it." 

He always thinks he can take it.

Otabek turns the vibrator up to the highest setting and strikes Yuri's legs, working his way up Yuri's thighs from the knee. He's not striking hard--just little, quick switches--but Yuri groans like he's being tortured and he's not sure if he likes it. His fingers clench around the baobing ball, white-knuckled, and his back arches up from the bed. The black base of the vibrator is stark against Yuri's pale skin. His lips part and stay open, like he can't quite catch his breath, and sweat is beading at his brow.

"Do you want me to stop?" Otabek says.

Yuri shakes his head.

Otabek sets down the crop for a minute and crawls over Yuri until they're in the same position as they started, except now Yuri can only futilely thrust against the air. His eyes are glossy and wet. Otabek covers Yuri's mouth with his hand. Yuri stares up at him for a long moment before his eyes squeeze shut and he cries out against Otabek's palm. 

The vibrator keeps humming. "Two," says Otabek.

Yuri starts crying in earnest then, tears running down his cheeks onto Otabek's hand. Otabek lifts his hand and licks the salt water away. He sits back on his heels and rakes his nails down Yuri's arms, then over Yuri's chest; Yuri just cries harder. He still hasn't ejaculated. Otabek takes Yuri's cock in his hand and gives it one long stroke before he moves to the end of the bed.

This time, Otabek hits hard and with precision. Yuri's thighs mark easily, reddening as the strikes layer on each other. His cock is heavy with blood, swollen against his belly. "Look at you," Otabek says. "You're beautiful. Come for me." 

Yuri obeys.

* * *

After that, Otabek turns off the vibrator, but he leaves it inside Yuri. He undoes the cuffs and lets Yuri quake into his embrace for a few minutes, still so hard that Otabek is almost afraid to touch him. Yuri drinks water when Otabek brings a straw to his lips. "That's three," Otabek says. "Can you do one more?"

Yuri nods. He's sweaty all over, trembling, but he leans into Otabek's hand when Otabek cups his jaw and kisses him. His mouth is so warm, like his body against Otabek's. Otabek kicks his pants off, then his boxers, and pulls away from Yuri long enough to take off his shirt, to get them skin to skin. Yuri digs his fingers into Otabek's side and drags him back, pressing their mouths together. 

Otabek reaches between them, down, and tugs out the vibrator, which comes free with a slick pop. He rolls Yuri onto his back and pushes inside him, where he's tight and hot and ready. Then Otabek puts a hand over the base of Yuri's throat. "Touch yourself."

Yuri's come four times tonight already. Otabek struggles to hold back long enough. He has to go slowly, careful not to grip Yuri's neck too tightly, careful to grip him tightly enough. How is Otabek supposed to last like this? With Yuri under him, his Yura—lips swollen, skin rosy with arousal, tear tracks over his cheeks, wrecked and impossibly precious? Otabek's hips stutter and Yuri cries out, clenching down on him, shaking. Otabek closes his eyes and comes.

* * *

For the second time today, they shower together. Otabek washes Yuri's hair--what there is of it to wash--and the rest of him, easing over sore skin with a washcloth. Yuri drinks a little more water and eats the rest of the pineapple gummy bears out of the bag. When he kisses Otabek, his mouth is sweet.

The sheets are dry when Otabek checks. Finally. He throws the one on the mattress into Yuri's closet and makes up the bed for real this time, changing out the pillowcases, fluffing the duvet. Instead of helping, Yuri is half-dozing on the floor. "Get up," Otabek says, gently pulling Yuri to his feet. "Let's go to sleep."

Yuri yawns. "Okay." He waits for Otabek to get in bed before he crawls under the covers and drapes himself over Otabek's side, nosing under his jaw, kissing the skin beneath Otabek's ear.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
